


That Bite to Take (Outtake)

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, During Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-15
Updated: 2006-09-15
Packaged: 2018-09-03 15:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: And you used to be a warrior, remember that? That's what you told him, Dean - what you told me. It's what you said, we were soldiers and we saved people. It's what you always said to try and get me to stay.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

New Page 1

**that bite to take.**         _outtake_  
Supernatural. Sam/Dean. R. Warnings for incest, language, evil!possessed!Sam, broken!Dean, and violence. Approx. 650 words. This is an outtake from [this fic](http://wheebubbles.livejournal.com/12411.html), and I strongly recommend reading that first. Beta read by and dedicated to [ ](http://la-folle-allure.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://la-folle-allure.livejournal.com/)**la_folle_allure**. ♥  
  
  
_The bathroom is tiny and cramped and the shower is worse, but Sam squeezes in behind him anyway, takes the bar of soap from Dean's hand without so much as word, and drags it slowly across the skin of his back. Into the hollow of Dean's throat he murmurs, "Good?"  
  
Dean closes his eyes and sighs. "Yeah. S'nice."_  
  
The thin drizzle of water drips onto his shoulders between them. It slices through the lather and Sam's fingers follow — soft lines over Dean's skin. Dean drops his head forward and maybe moans, but it's lost in the falling water and the sound of Sam's breathing by his ear.  
  
Sam presses a kiss to Dean's shoulder, to the back of his neck. His hands trail over Dean's sides and his lower back. Dean shivers.  
  
"Sammy," he whispers. "God, Sammy, please..."  
  
Sam starts to laugh — a mocking sound — and Dean stiffen, his skin tightens. "C'mon, baby." There's a lick at his shoulder, then a bite, not quite gentle. "You know you're not allowed to ask, Dean. Jesus." His hand settles on the back of Dean's thigh and he says, "Spread."  
  
He does, shifting his weight and trying to brace himself against the wall. He can't get any grip on the tiles. "Sam," he hears himself whine, "I can't, there's not enough room, and I want—"  
  
"What?" It's almost a growl. "What do you want? What did I just _say_?"  
  
Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head, helpless. "I, I want." He swallows and says, "I want it to be good for you. Jesus, Sammy, I just—"  
  
The soft rumble of Sam's laugh against his shoulder somehow shoots through Dean and goes straight to his dick, his whole body jerking like it's on a string. Sam's hand tightens around Dean's arm and he _shoves_. Dean slips on the tile and falls, grabbing at the shower curtain on instinct; it rips halfway down in his hand, and his back hits cold linoleum hard enough to knock the breath out of him.  
  
He's breathing hard, staring up at Sam with his mouth open and red and his eyes wide. Sam's eyes are smiling but his mouth isn't. It makes him look harder. Colder. He says, "Get up," and the water on Dean's skin feels like it's ice.  
  
The kick comes out of nowhere. It's not hard as it could be, but it's enough to at least bruise his ribs, and he's curling around himself with his eyes shut tight.  
  
Above him, it's his brother's voice, and he doesn't even doubt that the words are Sam's, too. "Look at yourself, Dean. Fucking pathetic. Broken and empty and you used to be a warrior, remember that? That's what you told him, Dean—what you told _me_. It's what you said, we were soldiers and we saved people. It's what you always said to try and get me to stay.  
  
"Jesus, Dean, can you see this?" Again, the laugh. "Can you picture yourself?" Another kick, harder this time. "You're fucking nothing anymore—you never were. Look at yourself, all you can think about is how to get me to hurt you just one more time, because it's the only attention you'd ever get." Just a nudge, now, but not gentle. "Get up. Fucking get up, Dean."  
  
He scrambles to his feet, wet and shaking and reeling from the blows. And all he can say is, "Please. _Please_."  
  
He sees Sam's fist coming, could duck it easy, even still. He remembers his training. He remembers what it was. It just... it's not important anymore. None of it. This is all there is, all he's got.  
  
It catches him in the jaw and sends him two feet back and into the wall, splits his lip and he can't help it, he tastes it. Swipe of the tongue and more blood wells up as soon as it's wiped clean, and a drop falls and splatters just above a burn on his chest.  
  
Dad always told them the wounds were a victory— _You're still here. You made it. You're alive_. Dean isn't so sure anymore, but he remembers he used to wear his scars with pride.  
  
And so he says again, "Please."  
  
 


End file.
